


Of the things that may never be

by Lady_Aurora



Series: What if [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Porn With Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26109712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Aurora/pseuds/Lady_Aurora
Summary: It was not uncommon for weird things to happen to her. Sometimes she felt like a magnet for strange situations.
Relationships: Éomer Éadig/Original Female Character(s), Éomer Éadig/Reader
Series: What if [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889626
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Of the things that may never be

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Beautiful People!
> 
> Another pairing, but the same vibe and the same prompt. Still shameless, harlequin-like romance.  
> What I must say is that all the descriptions of medical procedures in this story are very much simplified. I tried to balance an accuracy of the events without making them into descriptions from a textbook.  
> Thank you all for reading.  
> Enjoy (I hope)!

_What if I told you that there is no such thing as imagination? What if every thought or idea you ever had was a reflection of something you have heard, read or seen before? What if I told you that all the amazing stories we know are not made up but actually happened? What if we lived in a world that has many layers we don’t realise exist? What if I told you it was possible to explore them when lucky enough to find a crack between them? What if every beloved author we know didn’t have an amazing imagination but was able to get a glimpse behind the curtain? What if..._

Lyra was a rather down to earth person, always trying to keep her imagination at check. Or so she was telling herself.

But then, one evening, on her first vacation in quite a while, she decided to take a walk through one of the beautiful, wild forests near the Welsh village she was staying in. And she got lost. She was already wandering for a few hours, the sun was about to set and the panic started to rise in her throat. Then, she walked out on a small clearing and saw the last thing she expected. A door. In the middle of the forest.

She remembered seeing similar pictures on the internet as a set of one of the mystical photo shoots. She smiled to herself. It was not uncommon for weird things to happen to her. Sometimes she felt like a magnet for strange situations.

She came closer to the door and opened them. Just for shits and giggles, she told herself. And then the ground swept from under her feet and she fell.

She opened her eyes to found herself laying on the grass. The sun was shining through the tree branches, air was hot and moist but so wonderfully clean. For a moment she was sure she had just fainted and was still in the same forest, but no. This one was much older, greener and thicker. She scrambled to her feet and not having any better ideas, started to walk straight ahead, hoping to somehow find a way out.

After a long time, when she felt like fainting due to lack of food and water, she saw that trees started to thin out. Mustering all the strength she had left, she ran in that direction, praying for it to be the edge of the forest. Fortunately, it was. She stood, panting and trying to recognise the place she found herself in. She saw an open field. Beautiful, wild, untouched by a man’s hand. In the distance she could see mountains, its peaks covered in snow. Closer to her, there were hills, so vibrantly green that they seemed unreal. The whole landscape looked like it’s been photoshopped.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

“Where the hell am I?” Lyra thought, panic rising even higher, making her unable to think clearly. She was looking around, hoping to see another living soul. She was gasping for air, not being able to calm herself. Her vision started to blur on the edges, her knees buckled and suddenly, everything went black.

When Lyra opened her eyes again, she was laying on something much softer this time. She tried to push herself up but was not able to. She felt absolutely exhausted. She tried to say something but her mouth was so dry it hurt to even swallow. She realised she was staring at the wooden ceiling and had a wet, cold cloth on her forehead. So, she was at somebody’s home then. Somebody’s who meant her no harm if they took care of her the way they did.

After a moment, a face appeared in her line of vision. It was a young woman with a round, kind face, big blue eyes and long blond braided hair.

“I am glad to see you awake,” she said, sitting next to her. “Please, let me help you up and get you something to drink.”

Lyra was relieved beyond words that she was able to understand her.

The woman carefully took the cloth away from Lyra’s forehead and helped her to sit up. Then she offered her a clay mug filled with cold, fresh water.

“What is your name?” she asked, smiling reassuringly.

“Lyra.”

“You are not from here, are you, Lyra?”

She shook her head, drinking the water, not really sure what to say to that.

“My name is Háwara. I found you laying just outside of the forest when I was coming back from the market. It’s fortunate, that today I took the longer route.”

“Thank you,” Lyra said, her voice hoarse and strained.

“You found the door, didn’t you?”

Lyra felt her stomach drop.

“The door?” she stammered.

“Here,” Háwara said, taking the mug from Lyra’s hands. “Don’t be scared. I will explain everything to you as best as I can. You are neither the first nor probably the last one to come here from your world.”

The sun set before Háwara finished talking. Not much of it made sense to Lyra but she decided to take it as it was. Either she was just in the middle of the strangest adventure she could possibly imagine or she had died or had been injured in some way and it all was her mind’s creation. Either way, she was not able to do much about it for now.

At the beginning, Lyra asked where she ended up. Hearing the answer almost made her faint again. The Middle-Earth. She didn’t know why, but she was more prepared to have travelled in time, not into the land of one of her favourite books. The land that was supposed to be made up. Apparently, it was not.

As Háwara explained, they were in a small village outside Edoras. The War of the Ring ended up a few years ago. The people were still not entirely safe but started slowly to rebuild. They were allowing themselves a slither of hope that the worst was behind them.

Then, Háwara told her about “The Door”. No one truly understood how it worked but they knew it opened a passage to another world, Lyra’s world. The stories about travellers were as old as the world itself. They popped up at random places at random times. The way it messed up with the concept of time, made Lyra’s head spin. It meant that people from the future in her world could have ended up here before her. She realised, that Tolkien must have been here, too. But everything indicated that although he was born many years before her and in her world the books were already written, he hasn’t showed up here, yet. He must have travelled further in time to write about things that haven’t happened yet in the Middle-Earth.

Not everybody was allowed through the door, though. Unfortunately, no one understood how they chose the travellers. Once in a while a person would fell through them and had to make a decision – to go back or to stay. The only thing that was sure was that it was a one-way road from now on. No one who went back ever returned. Also, no one knew how long that option was available.

So, she had to decide if she wanted to stay in a land where she would always be an outsider, a stranger, a kind of novelty but would also be able to live a simple life, away from the worries of her world or if she wanted to go back to what she knew, to the place she supposedly belonged to.

It took Lyra a few days to make up her mind. Háwara let her stay with her for a time being, in exchange for help around the house. So she cleaned, made laundry, fed the animals, helped to cook as best as she could. And she realised that she loved it. She loved the calm and the simplicity. She loved to be woken up by the first rays of sunshine and to go to sleep in the total darkness that could only be found in a place with no artificial lights. She loved the fresh air, the beautiful landscape around them, the sight of a clear night sky with thousands of stars, sparkling so much brighter than she’d ever seen. She loved how the people were open and honest. They were suspicious and cautious, of course they were, she was a stranger after all. But they treated her with respect and kindness she rarely found in her world. 

So, she chose to stay. She didn’t have much to go back to anyway. She wanted to try and see where this road was going to take her.

About a week later, two soldiers came to town asking for “a woman from the woods”. As it turned out, the village elders send a word to Edoras about her. She was not surprised, it was perfectly predictable. The soldiers questioned her business here in the Riddermark and were quite hostile until Háwara asked to talk to them alone. After that, they seemed a bit more reassured and agreed to leave Lyra under her watch for a time being.

So Lyra stayed with Háwara and continued to help her for food and a roof over her head. In time, they grew quite close to each other. Háwara proved to be a warm, patient and extraordinarily smart woman. When Lyra asked her, probably not so thoughtfully, why she was living alone, Háwara told her about her husband. He died in the Battle of the Hornburg, only a year after they’d married. Lyra’s heart sunk when she saw the love and longing in the woman’s eyes. She was sure that this wound will never heal, no matter how much time is going to pass.

People in the village slowly grew used to Lyra. Not many of them spoke the common tongue so she was not exactly able to talk to them but they saw that she worked hard, was trying to learn their language and was respectful for their traditions and beliefs. The thing that finally let her win them over was also one of the worst and most terrifying days in Lyra’s life.

She was walking back from the market, feeling proud of herself for being able to make a good deal, in spite of the fact that she could only communicate with the seller by pointing and gesticulating, while smiling sweetly. The sight before one of the houses made her stop in her tracks. She saw Háwara and two other women sitting outside, crying and holding each other. Lyra dropped the basket she was carrying and quickly came closer.

“What happened?” she asked in a panicked voice.

Háwara stood up and walked her over to the well, far enough so that they were out of other women’s earshot.

“It’s Godlith’s daughter, Beylith. She is in labour, it started last night. But...” Her voiced cracked and her eyes were once more filled with tears. “The labour stopped and the baby is in the wrong position. There is nothing we can do. They are both going to die.”

Lyra felt bile rising in her throat. There was one thing she still kept a secret about herself, not sure how it was going to be received by the locals.

“Is there no healer here in the village or nearby or-”

“No,” Háwara interrupted her. “There is one in Edoras but it would take too long for him to come, even if we were able to convince him to do so. There is no other way.”

Not entirely certain that it was the best idea but knowing she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if she didn’t, Lyra decided to at least try to help.

“Háwara,” she said, looking at her friend with apologetic eyes. “There is something I did not tell you about me. In my world I was a doctor, a healer as you might call it. A young, not very experienced one, but I was. I did not tell you because I wasn’t sure it was a good quality to have here. The way I was taught is surely much different from how you treat your people here but I might be able to help. At least I can try.”

Háwara looked surprised and a bit hurt but she also seemed to be considering her offer. Abruptly, she turned around and walked back to the two other women. She talked to them for a moment and then waved her hand and called Lyra over.

“Come,” she said, taking her hand and led her into the house. It was dark and muggy. Out in the corner, on a small bed, Lyra saw a young, clearly exhausted woman. She was sweaty, with dark circles under her eyes. The look of despair on her face made Lyra’s heart break.

“Beylith,” Háwara said gently, sitting next to the woman. “It’s Lyra. You surely heard of her. She thinks she can try to help you. Would you let her examine you?”

Beylith nodded, closing her eyes. Lyra washed her hands as best as she could in a nearby basin and taking away the blooded sheets, kneeled before her. Háwara was right. The child was breeched, she could feel its buttocks. Also knowing that her water had already broken and the labour was not progressing, Lyra knew that chances of survival for this child and its mother without modern solutions were practically nonexistent. But there was hope, the umbilical cord she could feel was still pulsing. She knew that there was only one thing she could try but performing an operation on a conscious person without any equipment was an utter madness.

“Beylith, I think I can try to help you and your child,” Lyra said in a hushed voice. “But you must understand, that the chances of either of you surviving are close to none. Even if I succeed, you are probably not going to be able to have any more children if I won’t be able to stop the bleeding. It is going to hurt more than you can possibly imagine. I have to open your abdomen and take the baby out and I have absolutely no way to make you unconscious for that. I have also never done that procedure all by myself. Not to mention I never thought about performing it in this conditions. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Beylith nodded again and said, “Yes. Try whatever you can. We are already dead anyway.”

Lyra stood up, trying to stop the tears coming to her eyes. She couldn’t stand the look of total resignation on Beylith’s face.

Háwara stood too and asked, grabbing her elbow. “What do you need?”

Sometime later, Lyra was sitting outside, bracing her forehead on her knees. She was sobbing so hard that her whole body was shaking. They lived, they both lived. Thanking any deity she could think of, she tried to calm herself but wasn’t able to. It still wasn’t sure that Beylith is going to make it through but at least she had a chance. She would never carry another child but maybe she will be able to see her son grow up.

A few moments later, Godlith and Háwara kneeled next to her. Lyra was terrified how they will react to what happened inside. It definitely was not a pretty picture. Lyra was sure it would be forever burned into her mind. But then, their arms were around her neck and they all cried in fear and relief.

It turned out that there was nothing to be afraid of from the local people when it came to her occupation. They didn’t expect her to know everything and were understanding when it came to the limits of her abilities. A month after Beylith’s labour, Lyra was offered a small, slightly neglected, empty cottage at the end of the village. It needed to be repaired but it was nothing she could not do herself or with a little help.

So she spend her days working on her new home and learning all she could about the herbs, tinctures and other remedies people around these lands used for centuries. She was paid in food and help, never asking for more. Truthfully, she didn’t need more. She was as content as she had never been before. She had a purpose, a reason to wake up early every morning.

She was able to befriend a few young women in the village and they spend many evenings together, whispering and laughing over their embroidery.

She knew, she still was strange to most of the villagers. Apart from being from another world, she was unmarried at twenty-eight years old and insisted on wearing pants and tunics instead of dresses. They must have thought her weird but she didn’t care much. They still were kind to her.

One of the evenings during her second spring in Middle-Earth, had her sitting before a fire at Háwara’s house. Suddenly, the pleasant silence was interrupted by harsh knock at the door.

Háwara, looking startled, left her needlework and hurried to open. Outside, there were two riders, wearing armours covered in blood and mud.

“We heard there is a healer in this village,” said the taller one. “We need his assistance immediately.”

“Yes, there is,” Háwara answered, gesturing towards Lyra, who still didn’t move from her chair.

“Her?” spat the other soldier. “Isn’t that the woman who came through the door?”

Lyra didn’t remember meeting him before but she was sure that they must have heard about her. Also, there were not many women with long black hair around Riddermark, so that must also have been a big giveaway. 

“Yes, her and yes, she is,” said Háwara, sounding a bit agitated. “She helped many around here, you can ask for yourselves. The only other healer is in Edoras, as I am sure you know. So, either you ride there or she is all you have.”

Lyra looked at her with surprise but also with admiration. It took a lot of courage for a woman to speak like that to king’s men and honestly, she was touched by the way Háwara stood up for her.

The taller soldier nodded and waved his hand at someone. Then tree more men came in, carrying another one.

“Oh my God,” Lyra thought, colour draining instantly from her face.

She didn’t have to ask who he was. She could see from the style of his armour and the way his people looked at him. It was the king. They brought the king to Háwara’s house. And an unconscious one at-that.

They put him on a kitchen table, though it was barely big enough to fit him. He really was one bear of a man.

“What happened?” Lyra asked, trying to sound as calm as possible, while standing up and discreetly wiping her sweaty hands on her trousers in the same time. 

“He was thrown out of his horse,” said one of the soldiers. “We were on a patrol and tracked down a hidden orc pack. It was small and easily destroyed but one of them somehow managed to grab the king and pull him down.”

Lyra stopped herself before she asked, why anyone thought that allowing the king, an heirless one at-that, to ride out and risk his life was a good idea. But it was not her place to say anything.

“Take off his armour,” she ordered instead.

The soldiers worked as fast as they could and after a moment, Lyra was able to start assessing the damages. She was surprised to find that he didn’t have any obvious injuries. Most of the blood was clearly not his, and she could only see a few cuts and bruises, nothing more serious. At least, nothing to explain why he was unconscious. But then she realised that he was breathing hard and his chest was moving in a uneven way.

After that, she ordered them to take his shirt too. When she put her hands on both sides of his chest, she could see that the riders became a little bit anxious. She thought, that probably they were worried that she was going to use some kind of magic or something similar on him. Of course, that was not what she was trying to do. After just a second, she confirmed her suspicion.

“He injured his lung. He can’t breathe properly, see?” she asked, pointing at the king’s chest.

The one of the soldiers, probably the highest in rank between gathered, came closer and nodded his head, understanding what she meant.

“I need a long, sharp, preferably thin knife,” she said, before thinking how it must have sounded.

The atmosphere in the room visibly thickened.

“It is not what you think,” Lyra said, raising her hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender. “I need to help him breathe, that’s all.”

Reluctantly, she was given what she asked for. After washing her hands and the part of king’s chest as quickly and as best as possible, she put the blade to his skin and pushed. Instantly, she could hear a small puff of air and see king’s chest rising evenly, when he took a deep shaky breath.

‘This is going to hurt, I am sorry,” she murmured, putting her finger inside the cut and widening it.

She was dressing the wound, when the king coughed and slowly opened his eyes. He looked confused but when he spotted his own men, standing behind her and watching intently what she was doing, she could feel him relax.

“He has to rest, until the wound closes. I mean it. He has to lay in bed for a few weeks. It’s the best chance for it to heal properly,” Lyra said, but instead of looking at the rider she was talking to, she was still looking into the king’s eyes. She saw his lips twitch, like he was trying not to laugh. Suddenly, she realised that her behaviour was not entirely appropriate and looked away.

When she was done, they took him out and on a borrowed wagon escorted him back to the city. Lyra realised that she didn’t even hear a thank you for her help. However, she was so relieved by the fact that she managed to avoid killing the king, that she didn’t care much. 

A month later, she came back home from the forest, carrying a basket full of wood, to find three men standing before her cottage. Two of them she recognised as the soldiers that came knocking on the door the other night and the third one was unmistakeably their king.

She stopped before them, not sure how to act.

“Your grace,” she said, bowing her head. She was not trained in etiquette. The fantasy books she’d read in her youth were her only source of information in the matter. She could only hope not to make a complete fool of herself and not to antagonise a ruler by acting improperly. She could see the king nodding his head slightly in response.

He was taller and broader than both of his men. This time, when not covered in mud, his blond hair hung loosely past his collarbones, almost golden in the afternoon light. His beard was short, well kept and darker than his mane. Lyra realised that she was staring and quickly looked down.

“I hear, that you’re the woman that saved my life,” the king said in a deep voice.

She risked a glance at his face. He was smiling at her, probably a bit amused by her startled behaviour.

“Yes, your grace. I am happy to see you recovered and in good health,” Lyra answered, still looking at her shoes. She didn’t know why she felt so intimidated.

He came towards her and put a finger under her chin, making her look at him.

“I mean you no harm,” he said, lowering his arm. “I only came to thank you for your help. I will be forever grateful.”

She froze, not sure how to respond.

“I am glad I could be of assistance, your grace.”

She saw his lips twitch, just as they did when he’d woken up on Háwara’s kitchen table, like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“I won’t deny that I also was eager to meet a traveller, as I have never met one in person myself,” he admitted, still watching her intently. “Maybe one day you could tell me more about your world. I would be most grateful if I could hear a few stories from someone who actually lived there, not heard about it from someone else.”

“Of course, with an utmost pleasure, your grace,” she answered.

Lyra didn’t think, that the king would actually proceed with that idea and surely she didn’t expect him to show up in the middle of the night, a few days later, waking her with a quiet knock at her door.

“Your grace,” she exclaimed, tying hurriedly her dressing-gown. She thought that someone needed help, that something bad had happened. She didn’t expect to find the king, in a cloak and a hood over his head, standing on her doorstep.

“I am sorry, my lady,” he said but he didn’t sound sorry at all. His tone was light and clearly amused by her exasperation.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, trying to calm her voice.

“Yes, I just thought that we could speak, as you promised to tell me more about your world.”

“In the middle of the night? Is that even proper for you to be here alone?”

“If you don’t mind then I certainly do not.” He smiled and she could swear she saw his eyes sparkle mischievously with mirth. “I must admit, I hoped that someone like you would not be interested in what’s proper and what’s not. Please, tell me if I am wrong,” he added.

“Someone like me?” she repeated, not really understanding.

“I meant someone from another world, not confided by the same rules as we are. I didn’t mean to insult you in any way.” He frowned, as he realised that maybe he was too straightforward and carefree in his actions.

“No, it’s fine. I am awake now, so tea maybe?”

And he stayed. They talked until the sun started to rise and he needed to get back before anyone found out that he was gone.

For months, he kept coming back. Always at night, when the whole village was asleep and when he was able to sneak from his rooms without being noticed. She quickly understood why he chose to meet her like that. He was escaping. To her, to her stories. She was not one of his own. He could be himself for a few hours. Under the cover of the night, when every conversation seems more meaningful, when it’s somehow easier to open your heart and mind, he was just a man and she was just a woman. At that moments, there was no need for labels or decorum.

They spend many hours inside her house over a cup of hot tea or when it grew warmer, outside under the stars. At the beginning, she was answering all the questions he had about her world. It felt peculiar to talk about things that were so obvious to her but so shocking to another. Then, their conversations slowly drifted to anything else.

One night she told him about the constellation she was named after. Her mother had absolutely adored stars and had taught her as much as she could about astronomy. She showed him where it should be seen in the sky but wasn’t sure that stars in Middle-Earth were the same as she knew them. He told her about his childhood, his parents, his sister. Often they talked about the dreams they had, wondering what they could mean.

Lyra knew it was becoming dangerous. Neither of them never did anything inappropriate, they never touched, never even hugged each other. But she felt too comfortable around him. She was able to understand things just by looking him in the eyes, without him even saying them. She knew his face too well. Knew how his brow furrowed when he was troubled, how he frowned when he was deep in thought. A few times she almost reached to smooth a line that formed between his brows when he was especially concerned about something. She knew how corners of his eyes crinkled when he was smiling. She loved the sound of his laugh, so free and unconfined.

She was aware that nothing could ever happen between them. She was not naive enough to think that he could take her, a commoner, a stranger, as his wife.. That was definitely out of the question. She wasn’t even sure if he would want her any way other than what she was now, a friend.

But it didn’t stop her heart from beating faster every time he looked at her or his smell got to her with a warm summer breeze. She probably should have told him to stop coming. But he was bringing her too much joy to do that.

It didn’t help that she was not able to talk to Háwara about it. She was painfully aware that their relationship must always stay in the darkness of the night, where is started.

One night, like many times before, Lyra was woken up by a knock at the door. This time however, it was much louder and more insistent. She was sure it was someone else.

She quickly picked herself up and opened the door. Outside she saw a worried looking rider.

“My lady,” he greeted her, bowing his head slightly. He was young, probably sixteen or not much older. “I am sorry to wake you but you are requested in Edoras. I was asked to bring you as soon as possible.”

“Why?” Lyra asked, feeling panic creeping over her. Where they discovered? Was she going to be send away? Or maybe worse, did something happen to someone and they couldn’t find help elsewhere?

“They will explain everything as we arrive. Please, hurry.”

Seeing how the boy was anxious, she did as she was told. She put her clothes on and grabbing a bag with her supplies, left as soon as possible. The rider helped her mount his horse, and sitting in front of her, hurried back towards the town.

She’d never been in Edoras before, there was no reason to. Unfortunately, now was not the time to admire the place. The city was crowded which must have been highly unusual at this time at night. People were hurrying around, carrying things in their arms but she couldn’t see clearly enough in the darkness to distinguish what they were. The rider stopped near the stables. Lyra quickly dismounted and was pulled by her elbow by an old, troubled looking man.

“What-”

“My lady,” he said, walking quickly and pulling her with him. “My name is Folcred. I am a healer here in Edoras. I am sorry but we have no time to exchange pleasantries.”

They came to stand before a door at the foot of the building, that Lyra now realised must have been Meduseld, as it stood at the top of the city. Folcred looked at her, hesitating for a moment, before he continued.

“The éored came back a few hours ago. There are many wounded. We will manage but,” he said with a resigned sigh. “The king won’t allow anyone to take care of his injuries. He claims he is perfectly fine and ordered us to take care of his riders. I know you helped him once before, for what I am deeply grateful. Maybe he will allow you to at least check on him now. Maybe he won’t feel as if he is taking the care away from his people when it will be offered by you. I am not sure, but will you at least try and talk to him?”

“Yes, of course,” Lyra agreed quickly, without hesitation.

He led her inside and up a few sets of stairs until they stood before a heavy, wooden door at the end of a candlelit corridor.

“I will leave you here. If he won’t agree, please come down and find me. Every help will be highly appreciated tonight.” And then Folcred hurried back down the stairs.

Lyra exhaled deeply and knocked at the door.

“I said to leave me alone!”

The loud roar was followed by heavy footsteps. The door flew open and she stood before a visibly furious king.

“What- Lyra?” he asked, cutting himself off mid-sentence. She was sure the only reason why he stopped screaming, was his shock to see her standing outside his room. If she was one of his men, it would surely be much, much worse.

He stood there, still in his armour, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot, with one hand curled into tight fist and the other holding the door so hard, his knuckles were white. She was now able to understood Folcred’s concern.

“Can we talk?” she asked, hoping that he would at least listen to her before throwing her out.

He nodded sharply and stepped aside, letting her in.

“Folcred sent for you, didn’t he?” he asked, irritated.

“Yes,” she admitted, seeing no reason not to be honest. “He told me that you denied being taken care of and-”

“My people are more important right now,” he snapped. “I am perfectly fine. I don’t need help.”

“I know you don’t _need_ it but I am asking you to accept it, anyway.”

The line between his brows was as deep as she’d ever seen it. This time she couldn’t stop herself and reached up, to smooth it with her thumb. He seemed to be a bit surprised by the gesture but said nothing.

“Your people are well taken care of. Please, let me just check if you are wounded. Then I will leave you alone, I promise” she whispered, hoping that he will listen.

Again, he just nodded, sighing with defeat.

Following his instructions, she helped him out of his armour, leaving it outside the room to be taken away and cleaned.

“I believe you can finish now by yourself,” she said, trying not to sound concerned, but failed miserably. She saw a not so small amount of blood on his clothes and he flinched a few times when she touched him. He was obviously not as _perfectly fine_ , as he claimed. “ You have to wash yourself first for me to be able to examine you. I will add oils to your bath to help sooth your muscles. Come, when you’re ready.”

With that, she hurried to the corner of the room, where earlier she saw a tub, filled with steaming water. Luckily, the water was still warm enough to be comfortable, yet not hot enough to harm him if he was wounded.

She was trying to ignore the sound of him barring the door, followed by ruffle of clothes being dropped on the floor. She waited, with her back to him, pretending to check the contents of her bag. Only when she heard him dip fully into the water, she turned around.

The king laid back and let himself disappear under the surface for a moment. Then, emerged, wiping his face.

Suddenly, Lyra felt flushed. She didn’t think it through well enough. Although he didn’t seem to be ashamed of his nudity, she was more taken by it than she should have been. Telling herself to be as professional as possible, she took a small empty jug from the nearby table and sat on a stool behind the tub.

Then, she gently took his head in her hands, and guided it back.

“You don’t have to-”

“I know.”

She filled the jug with the water from the tub and poured it over his head, making sure it didn’t get to his eyes. Then, she started to wash his hair with lavender-scented soap that she found earlier on the table, next to the jug, a comb and a stack of clean cloth.

For a long moment, they sat in silence. He let his eyes close as she was entirely focused on washing dirt away from his mane.

“Did anyone fall today?” she asked, before she bit her tongue.

“No,” he sighed, tensing visibly. “But it was all my fault. They told me that it was a trap, that the enemy’s forces were bigger than the scouts spotted. I was selfish, wanted to ride out, to get out of the city. It’s my fault they-”

“It’s only human to be wrong,” she interrupted, not letting him finish. “And the last time I checked, being a king didn’t make you any less human. I am also pretty certain that it is a good and rare quality in a ruler to admit his mistakes. Your people surely will appreciate it.”

“Thank you,” he said, after a long while.

“No need. I am only speaking my mind. Hopefully, not too brazenly.”

“No,” he chuckled, finally opening his eyes. “Honesty is hard to come by when you are in my position. Yet it is something I highly appreciate and am very grateful for.”

Neither of them said anything more, until she finished rinsing his hair and moved the chair to sit before him.

“So, _your grace_ , tell me honestly where you are hurt so I can help you.”

“As you command, my lady,” he said, trying to sound serious, minding her mocking tone, but his eyes betrayed him.

He showed her a long cut on his arm. “That’s the only one, I swear to you. I really am fine.”

“Let me decide that,” she murmured and started to clean it with a wet cloth.

Luckily, it was not deep and she didn’t think he would even need stitching. Apparently, the blood on his clothes was not his.

“When you finish, please come sit down so I can dress it,” she said, leaving another clean sheet for him on the chair she’d been sitting on.

She took her bag and moved to the bed. It was not ideal, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him to sit on a hard wooden chair.

Lyra pushed another small wooden table to the side of the bed and took out anything she might need. When she was finishing tearing a big piece of cloth into smaller ones, he came and sat down next to her.

She tried not to think about him being covered only by a white sheet wrapped around his hips and focused on putting salve on the edges of his wound. One of the women from the village taught her how to make it. It smelled strongly of herbs but was amazing in helping skin to close without festering. Then she put a cloth over it and wrapped his arm in another.

“Take it off tomorrow morning and let it breathe. Then put the salve and a fresh dressing on again, before going to sleep. It should close in a few days. I will know if you did as I said,” she told him with a stern look.

“I promise, I will,” he nodded, clearly amused by her seriousness.

She stood up to wash her sticky hands and gasped, terrified, when she saw his bare back. It was covered in bruises, scratches and small cuts.

“You lied to me, my lord,” she said, putting her hands gently on his skin. “You swore, that was the only wound you have. What really happened to you?”

“I fell on the rocks. It is fine, really, please-”

She huffed angrily and grabbed another big jar from her bag.

“It will be fine, when I say it is fine. They hurt, I know they do, so please, be quiet and let me work.”

His whole body was shaking with contained laughter but he didn’t say another word. She should be angry at him for not taking her seriously but instead, was glad that he was feeling better. Even if it was at her expense.

She sat on her heels behind him, took out a large amount of the balm and started to rub it into his skin as carefully as she could. She made it from a plant similar to Arnica montana. It should at least make the bruises heal faster and sooth the irritated skin.

She couldn’t help but notice the tension in his shoulders. Without much thought, she started carefully, with not too much pressure, kneading the muscles in his neck.

His head fell on his chest and he let out a shaky breath.

“So... You are perfectly fine, aren’t you?” she teased him.

“I admit I was wrong, just please, don’t stop.”

She smirked, victorious, continuing her work. Gradually, he seemed to relax. She was not able to turn back time, to stop him from riding out but was pleased to at least help him sleep better and be less sore in the morning.

Again, they were silent for a long time. The sound of crackling wood, his contented sighs and the warmth of his skin under her fingers made her fall into trance-like state. She didn’t realise that her kneading became more of a caress instead. He startled her, when he grabbed her hands, that lingered probably a little bit too long on his ribs.

Without a word, he slid her hands further on his chest, entwining his fingers with hers. Before her mind caught up to what was happening, she was kneeling, plastered to his back.

She leaned her forehead on the nape of his neck, exhaling shakily.

“My lord,” she whispered, her breath fanning his skin. She could feel his heart hammering under her palm and her own, beating just as fast.

He didn’t answer. Slowly, with one hand, then another, he reached back and moved her legs to rest next to his. There was no part of them that wasn’t touching, his body warming hers even through her clothes.

Lyra closed her eyes, trying to think clearly but failing, being overwhelmed by their closeness.

The king sat quietly, holding her hands tightly. Then, sliding them down to his waist, turned, resting one arm next to her hip, and the other high on her thigh.

They were so close, she could see tiny freckles on his nose, their lips inches apart. The way he looked at her made a shiver run down her spine.

And then he kissed her, slowly, thoroughly, languorously, like they had all the time in the world. When he probed her lips with his tongue, she opened without hesitation. Her head was swimming. She slid her hands up on his chest, meaning to push him away, but instead, the thought lost somewhere on the way, reached higher and twined them into his hair, deepening the kiss even further.

When she started to feel a little fainted, he laid back but just enough to lean his forehead on hers.

“I wanted to do that for a long time,” he whispered in a throaty voice, his lips brushing hers when he spoke. “I have never been afraid to die. I’ve been prepared to do so since I first became a rider. I was expecting it to happen by the hand of an enemy. I’ve been close to it many times before. Never had any regret, any fear in my heart. But today, today when I thought it finally might be the day, the only thing I could think of was that I will never know how you taste like, how you would look in my arms in the light of dawn and-”

His voice drifted off and she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. He caught every single one with his lips and then, when he kissed her again, she could taste their saltiness on his tongue.

“We can’t, you know we can’t,” she pleaded. “We are not meant for each other.”

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his breath hot on her ear. “Tell me if I am wrong. Tell me if your desires do not match mine. Tell me to stop and I will.”

She knew he would and that she should have told him to. But when she felt his tongue on her throat, his mouth sliding down to her collarbone, all she could do was gasp and tighten her grip on his hair. He tugged on the laces of her shirt and kissed down her sternum.

“What are you wearing?” he asked suddenly, looking perplexed at her exposed chest.

She looked down and chuckled, in spite of the situation they found themselves in.

“I was in a hurry,” she told him, not able to stop laughing at his expression. “They woke me up in the middle of the night and didn’t tell me what happened. The last thing on my mind was to dress properly.”

He pulled her shirt up and off, tossing it carelessly on the floor. Then he hurriedly unwrapped the material she’d bound around her chest earlier, having no time for the much more complicated brassiere she usually wore.

When her full breasts spilled into his hands, her laughter instantly died on her lips and the moment his mouth closed around her nipple, she knew she was lost. She wouldn’t be able to stop him then, to tell him no. Consequences be damned, if that night was all they would ever have, so be it.

He slid further down, kissing her stomach and then, he was kneeling on the floor before her, pulling her leggings down her legs.

He picked up one of her legs, and kissing just above her ankle, rested it on his shoulder. His mouth moved up and up, until he reached the apex of her thigh. By the time he repeated the whole process with the other one, she was trembling, feeling feverish.

He grabbed her hips tightly and looked up at her, his mouth hovering over her core. And then, still looking her in the eyes, he licked up her slit.

She fell back on her elbows, not being able to hold herself upright any longer. No one had ever done that to her as she never was bold enough to ask.

A brief, amusing thought fleet through her mind – to have a king kneeling before her, with his head between her legs was not something she imagined ever happening. But quickly it was gone, as any other thought she might have had and the only thing she could focus on was his tongue and his hands and the almost painful feeling rising in her stomach. Soon, the light burst behind her closed eyelids, her head fell back and all the air was ripped from her lungs in a sharp cry.

He moved back up her body, pushing her up the bed and she could feel that his beard was wet from her juices. With her eyes still closed, he kissed her. Her own taste on his tongue made her moan loudly into his mouth.

She slid her hands down his back and tugged at the cloth, miraculously still wrapped around his hips. Then she opened her legs, so he could lay between them, locking her ankles behind his hips and positioning him at her entrance.

He rested one of his arms against the wooden headboard and cradled her head with the other. The moment he took her, in a one hard push of his hips, they both stilled, overwhelmed. And then he started moving again, shallow, short thrusts that were driving her mad.

“Open your eyes,” he said in a low voice.

She obliged and was met with his, so dark and full of hunger, it made her gasp.

“Say it,” he demanded. She could feel his voice rumbling in his chest. “Acknowledge who is taking you, who is inside you, who is making love to you. Tell me you’re mine, even if tonight is all we might be given.”

She understood what he meant. She denied him that many times over, trying to keep at least that one sliver of distance between them. But now there was nothing to keep anymore. Not now, when they were one.

She put both her hands on his cheeks and said in a hoarse but steady voice.

“Éomer”

Something broke behind his eyes and he thrust hard up into her. Soon, she was past any coherent thought, his name on her lips, said again and again, like a supplication.

When she came, with mouth open in a silent scream, feeling his hand tightening on her neck and hearing his loud, almost primal roar of completion against her ear, she knew that nothing else will ever be good enough. She was his, not only for that night, but for all the nights to come.

Later, when he laid next to her, with his head on her chest and his arm draped over her stomach, drawing invisible patterns on her hips as she was brushing his hair with her fingers, for the second time that night she felt tears in her eyes. But this time she didn’t let them fall, as they were not the tears of joy but of the things that may never be.

Some time later, an hour or a few, she couldn’t really tell, when she thought he was asleep, Lyra tried to move from under him and leave, before anyone came knocking and looking for their king.

But the moment she shifted, his hand on her hip tightened almost painfully.

“Stay.”


End file.
